


songbird.

by ffomixam



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Domestic, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Not John Lennon Friendly, Period Typical Attitudes, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Divorce, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 08:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19195300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffomixam/pseuds/ffomixam
Summary: It’s 1968 and the aftermath of John and Cynthia Lennon’s divorce. You’re her best friend through many years; staying at her house to support her and her son through this hard time.





	songbird.

**Author's Note:**

> summary, schummary.

The rain beat hard and fast against the wooden roof of the house known as Kenwood. It was early August but you could easily be fooled by the weather into thinking it was late autumn as the wind and rain knocked hard against the windows of the old house.

You were there visiting your good friend Cynthia in a show of support as she went through a tough and unjust divorce from her musician husband John Lennon. And, by God, did she need it. It was destroying her emotionally and physically as she yet again laid flat on her stomach, crying her heart out, on the large queen bed that she once shared with her so beloved husband.

You were out in the large garden, out in the pouring rain, with her young son Julian. Trying to distract him from the drama and the depressive state of his mother. He was five and was well aware of the situation so as much as you wanted to distract him from all that went on; it was far too late. He had, when you first told him to dress up and go outside, asked you if it was because his mother was crying again. It broke your heart and there was nothing you could say to it but put on your coat and boots in demure silence.

You had known Cynthia long before John had entered the picture. Long before Julian and The Beatles. And you had loved her for just as long. Not as a sister or as a friend; as your best friend. You loved her as something more. Something you never had found the ability to give a name to. You were sure it was more than platonic. Something bordering on romantic, but it had never been confessed. Never something even slightly hinted at. You didn’t want to risk the relationship you had with her. And it definitely couldn’t be brought up now in the mess of a situation John had left her in.

Oh, you could kill him. How he dared to do this to her! Cheating on her with who knows how many women over the years and then all that culminating in bringing in some abstract concept artist into their marital bed while she was on a vacation he sent her on! The gall of the man!

And, oh, you had made your feelings very known when he once showed up unannounced with his new lover at the apartment you stayed at with Cynthia in London. They no longer liked Kenwood, it being too solitary or some bullshit, and wanted to stay there instead. You told him to stick where the sun wouldn’t shine and then some but was quickly ushered away by Ringo Starr, the actual owner of the aforementioned apartment.

Cynthia was fine with it as she had come to miss Kenwood in the time she had stayed in London. But the sight of him and that Yoko Ono had sent her back into a spiral she had otherwise slowly been crawling out of.

So, here you were, in the rain, hopping around in puddles with Julian and the white terrier dog that you shared with Cyn. He seemed content enough at the moment. Pearls of the wonderful laughter of children getting caught in the wind as he kicked and splashed water and mud into the air. Mickey, your West Highland White Terrier, barking along as it rolled around on the wet grass, much to your dismay.

After a long while, you had no way to keep track of how long, you were getting pretty wet. And exhausted from all the running around. Telling Julian so; you forced the young boy inside and gave him the chore of drying up Mickey as you went to boil water for a nice cup of tea for the both of you.

Setting Julian down at the kitchen table; you told him to wait for you there with a set of crayons and a colouring book as you went upstairs to check on his mother.

Cynthia had been quiet the entire time you had been back inside and you had assumed she must have fallen asleep in the aftermath of her fit of sorrow. And so it seemed as you entered the room to fit her gently snoring with her head resting on her arms in what looked to be a rather uncomfortable position. There would be nothing you could do to help her out of the future soreness without waking her up so you resigned yourself to pull over a thin quilt gently and quietly made your way back down to Julian.

Julian was sitting in deep concentration as he drew into the big book with a yellow crayon held fast unto in a tiny fist as it went well beyond the lines of the drawings. You had given him a glass of milk as he was yet to have any interest or taste for tea. His feet swung back and forth from the high seat, narrowly hitting Mickey on the ground who seemed to have no interest in moving out of the way.

You hummed along to the radio that was playing at a low volume as you watched Julian colouring the various pictures of animals and plants. None of the colours fitted the real-life counterparts and the sight of it made you miss the creativity and innocent of childhood in contrast to the sharp and sudden swings and responsibilities of adulthood. You sipped slow sips from your mug as time went by in your watching of Julian. No talking was done as you were quite sure he had completely forgotten you in his enthrallment of the drawings.

If one good thing had come out of Cynthia’s involvement with John; it had been Julian. You loved him as if he was family of your own, which he practically was. You had been around him since his birth. Been around him more then his father had, due to his tight schedule of touring and recording and sleeping around.

No! You refused to get angry again. Angry at the thought of a man that wasn’t even present. Angry at the harm and emotional torment he had caused not only his wife but his son!

Your knuckles were turning white around the grip you had on your mug as you shimmered silently in anger, hoping it would go unnoticed by the young boy next to you. But, fortunately, you were distracted from your sullen thoughts at the sound of a motor roaring and stopping right outside on the road belonging Kenwood.

You went to the window and looked out, mug still in hand, and immediately recognised the car. It belonged to none other than Paul McCartney; a man you otherwise hadn’t seen in a while. You watched him go up the stone pathway leading to the house until he reached the main door and knocked.

Julian’s head shot up from his intense staring contest with the picture of a gorilla and he looked eagerly back and forth between you and the door.

“Julian, it’s uncle Paulie coming to see you!”

You laughed as the young boy jumped down the chair with a great big grin on his face and rushed to the front door. You heard the familiar laughter of Paul as you made your way to the entrance. His arms were in a tight embrace around Julian who was carrying in his arms as he was closing the door behind him; talking and laughing with the kid as he did so.

Julian was animatedly talking about his day, waving his arms around as he described the rain and the animals in his book and how he had played around with Mickey in the garden and how he had painted the tiny dog brown with the mud. Just like in his book!

Paul could only nod to you in greeting as he went into the living room with the boy in his arms, still talking and laughing. You followed along after you had cast a single glance up the stairs towards the room Cynthia were sleeping in. You hoped desperately she was staying undisturbed as sleep had been something she severely needed.

You sat down quietly in an armchair facing the sofa where Julian was still talking. It seemed the conversation had gone from his day to the socks he was wearing. It was a pair he had gotten for his birthday by your parents (they were, in a way, adoptive grandparents of his. Something John had never liked) and they were decorated with small giraffes in bright colours. It was the only pair he ever wanted to wear, though you had the misfortune of crushing his dreams every time they needed a wash.

The moment you had the change; you told Julian to go play with his toys as you needed to have a ‘ _grown-up_ ’ chat with his uncle. He didn’t seem to mind as he quickly nodded and rushed to his various spinning tops and variants of wooden toys your father had made for him.

Paul looked at you, curious and with his brows raised as he leaned forward to sit closer to you as you said in a hushed voice; wanting to avoid Julian overhearing.

“Cyn’s finally sleeping,” you said with some relief as you glanced towards the entrance hall where the staircase proudly stood. He nodded in thought with the slight mutterings of ‘ _good_ ’.

Paul hadn’t been a rare presence in the house. Often visiting and checking up on the three of you when his schedule allowed it. He hadn’t deemed the divorce as an end to his friendship with either of you and for that, you were beyond grateful. You needed the extra company for when your feelings for Cynthia and your rage for John (who she still held deep feelings for) became too overpowering. He had become your confidant. And, in a moment of weakness, you had confided in him the feelings you harboured for Cynthia. He hadn’t shunned you. Hadn’t cursed you out for the things you felt for the other woman. He had seemed, in a way, understanding of your situation. Though he hadn’t said so.

Paul got you out of your thoughts (again) when he said; “I wrote a song. For Jules. To cheer him up, y’know.”

“A song?” you asked with a raised brow. Not all too surprising considering who he was. But it still took you by surprise as it was a gesture you hadn’t expected.

He nodded; clearly excited about his musical feat; “it’s not finished yet but it’s… good, if I do say so myself. Did it all on me own,” he said with a wink and you laughed. Though you didn’t admit to it; you were quite excited to hear the song. Especially if it was meant for dear Julian.

You had a long line of questions ready to be asked concerning him, the song, the bastard John, when you overheard the small tapping of feet from the floor above you. You looked up, for some reason thinking that would serve you as a guide as to what was making the noise. Quickly glancing back to Paul, you realised what or whom it was; you stood up with a sigh.

“I’ll go check on her,” and you quickly left to make the journey of the stairs. You whispered her name as you entered the bedroom and saw her staring blankly at the wall where they once had hung a portrait of her and John. It’s current location you didn’t know. It had been long gone once you had finally arrived at Kenwood weeks ago.

She didn’t seem to notice your appearance, though you had called out to her. She didn’t stir or look away from the wall and you were about to leave again when a gentle voice asked you something you hadn’t expected; “lay with me.”

You halted in your steps and swore that your heart stopped beating. Had you heard correctly? You turned and closed the quietly behind you as you looked at her, feeling very confused as you looked at her from your place against the door.

She finally looked to you, tears in her eyes. Her cheeks already a bright pink from her earlier crying.

“I mean nothing improper. I just… miss having arms around me. To hold me.”

You nodded and slowly made your way over to her. Your hard was beating fast as you neared her and the world felt like it was starting to spin. So it was a good thing you laid down on the soft bed, atop the covers. She turned on the bed and with her slender hands, guided yours to hold her gently. With a small whimper and sigh; she leaned against your chest with her hands still on yours.

It didn’t take long before you felt yourself relax and both of your breathing slowed down. You felt her warm breath on your skin through your thin summer shirt which was quickly followed by her calm snoring. And though you knew it was but a momentary event; something that had been followed by pain and unjust suffering, you wanted it to last eternally. This serene, peaceful, moment that so rarely came around these recent years.

You figured you would eventually be missed downstairs but, oh, how you couldn’t give a damn as Cynthia held tight unto your fingers as she finally got the rest she desired.


End file.
